Disclaimer: I do not own Stargate: Atlantis; I do however own thoughts of Squishy.

In war, there are casualties.

The words resound in my mind as I try desperately not to dwell on the newest name added to the growing list in my mind; I can’t afford to mourn just yet, there’s too much to be done. My voice is steady as I speak, but I don’t really pay attention to what I’m saying, the words falling from my tongue with the practice of many years as a diplomat, as though I’m an outside observer, merely looking in on this important occasion. I don’t know whether it’s a defense mechanism, or just me finally cracking under the pressure.

In war, there are casualties.

On some subconscious level, I knew that what we were attempting was a vain hope, but it was a hope nonetheless. I’ve always pushed for the optimistic outcome, believing that life was as you made it. Even when Dr. Zelenka told me we couldn’t save more than seven or eight percent of the Ancient database, I still held out hope. Hope that we’d somehow pull through, that there would be some miracle to save this, even if we couldn’t save the city.

And even later, when I tried to push him, to get him to pull an analogous rabbit out of his hat, and he spoke of casualties, hope remained. Hope that Rodney and Peter would fix the satellite, and that we wouldn’t have to abandon Atlantis.

In war, there are casualties.

They did fix the satellite, and one of the Wraith ships was destroyed. My faith in hope was well founded. Then, something happened, and all hope was lost.

The satellite was destroyed, and Peter Grodin is dead.

“Put the virus program on standby,” I tell Zelenka. Looking at him, I can see that he had held out hope too, despite his words, and as his fingers type in the sequence, his face shows what I’ve already discovered.